


How to Win at Battleship

by aeyria



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Kedreeva's Wiggleverse, Kid Fic, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes and so is one of the parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeyria/pseuds/aeyria
Summary: Step 1: Snakes(Crowley gets the family to play a modified game of Battleship. There may be some shenanigans afoot.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50
Collections: Wiggleverse





	How to Win at Battleship

**Author's Note:**

> "concept: snabies battleship. fathers play against each other except instead of the little boards they have a tub of water with a grid over it and a gridded divider between them so they cant see the other side. model boats and pins are placed on the grids as usual, except its done by snabies who can swim / climb back and forth between the two and get to jump into the water to capsize ships once theyre sunk"
> 
> [I drew this for the Snabies Fambly on discord](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740295/chapters/63066307) and then things got out of control. No I don't have names for the non-Junior snabies yet, I'm sorry.

“A3?” Aziraphale asks hopefully. He eyes the empty spaces on the pin-studded grid before him. Surely he has to hit something at _some_ point.

There is a pause as Crowley checks his own side of the board, just long enough for the moment to stretch into hoping, and then a sweetly smug, “Missed,” crushes it all from the other side of the divider. Aziraphale sighs. One of his children wiggles their way up the board to mark the space with a white pin before returning to their perch by the pin tray. It's just reds left. Every single pin currently on his side of the board is white, markers of consistent misses which would seem impossible except for the fact that there technically are enough remaining blank spaces for it to be a legitimate if baffling choice.

He glares at the patterns again, trying to scrutinize the makeshift game board into giving away its secrets.

Where could the ships be?

Crowley interrupts his puzzling. 

“My turn, angel," he singsongs, and oh how Aziraphale _loathes_ the grin he can hear in the demon’s voice. “E7.”

A pit of dread hangs in his stomach as he tracks the grid overlaying the tub of water split between them. E7; sure enough, there’s a ship. It’s the little one space-er, the last of his poor fleet. Game over.

He glances at the solid barrier between his side and Crowley's. He glances at the children who have been manning (snaking?) his side of the board. It's all eager faces that meet him, even the one who has been having an increasingly difficult (though consistently delighted) time playing "camouflage" in the pin tray has now emerged from their upside-down posing. No, he couldn't deprive them.

With great reluctance, he gives the obligatory white flag. "You've sunk my battleship." 

Immediately, there is a shriek of joy and then the tub descends into chaos as all five of the children start swarming over to his side. Water splashes everywhere and he thanks God that he'd insisted on laying out towels beforehand as the tiny snakes race to capsize the model boat in a frankly alarming display of zeal. Demonic inheritance he’s sure. Has to be.

He waits long enough to see that the ship is sent belly up with no harm done to the children and then he is marching over to his opponent’s side. Crowley begins cackling like a fiend as soon as he spots him. 

“You cheated!” Aziraphale accuses. He says it at a stage whisper, loud enough for Crowley to hear but not so loud as to upset the children.

Crowley shrugs, gesturing upwards with the hand not busy wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. 

“It’s fair and square if everyone’s got the same advantages. Not my fault you never looked up.”

Aziraphale follows now the skyward direction of Crowley’s hand, and then he wants to smack it as he realizes what’s been above them the whole time: a blasted ceiling mirror. How and when Crowley had had the time to miracle up or install it is beyond Aziraphale; he's certain he would have noticed it if it had been there when he had walked in, and it's not like he's left the room to give him the opportunity since — but regardless of its origin, it's there now and apparently had been for the entire game. The glossy hulls of his capsized fleet float in perfect clarity in the mirror's reflection, as do the tops of the fleet on Crowley’s side. Except—

“You used ducks!?” he exclaims, stage whisper forgotten as he rushes the rest of the way around the barrier. Oh, he did, the serpent! 

Instead of ships, Crowley’s waters are populated with brightly coloured rubber ducks, each with a pair of fake sunglasses painted on. They’re colour coded and arranged in groups, which would have been fine were it a matter of simple substitution, but none of them are anchored within the grid, allowing, as he watches, a line of ducks to float serenely across one grid line and then the next. No wonder his shots had never hit!

He’s about to have some very strong words with his snake of a spouse when there’s another shout from behind and then a flood of wriggling shapes into this side of the tub as the children come swimming around the divider.

“Yay! Azirafather know so now can play with friends!” 

The children wind their ways up onto the ducks, cooing praise for the plastic birds that they’ve apparently already named. Crowley gives him a look as if daring him to continue what he was going to say, but Aziraphale is already past the moment. He’ll come up with some way to get Crowley back later, something creative and likely to do with the the demon’s obvious habit of staring at him while he eats, but that will come in time. For now, their children are happy, and that’s enough to make him happy too.


End file.
